


Fuck That Noise

by ThrowYourChaosInNeutralAndDrive



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Language Advisory, asexual but not aromantic Alastor, charlie/alastor infatuation hinted at, slight crossover reference featuring Castiel from Supernatural, story set in hell so mentions of gore, y'all sure are thirsty over someone who don't thirst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21666733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThrowYourChaosInNeutralAndDrive/pseuds/ThrowYourChaosInNeutralAndDrive
Summary: Everybody wants something from Alastor.  But what does the Radio Demon want?(character study mixed with comedy and dark themes)
Relationships: Alastor/Charlie Magne, Charlie Magne/Vaggie
Comments: 4
Kudos: 127





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _~ "Alastor" is Ancient Greek for "he who does not forget", thus "avenger", "persecutor", "tormenter", "one who suffers from divine vengeance". ~_

When it came to the Radio Demon, everyone in his (hellish) circle wanted something from him. 

“Fuckin’ lanky ass cock tease. Jesus….” 

In the case of Angel, Angel wanted – well, _him._

The porn star sat outside on the steps of the Hazbin Hotel sucking forlornly on a Popsie. He had half a mind to go mess with Val and his goons out of _sheer boredom_ and….frustration…..

But his wagon had been ‘unhitched’ from the salacious demon with the heart glasses a few months ago. 

Miss Princess and her posse of powerful dipshits had come to his aid when Valentine had attempted to reclaim his employee by kidnapping Angel and punishing him in that cushy studio he lorded over. 

Angie was grateful. Don’t get him wrong. His former Bastard Boss had been getting closer and closer to erasing him even before Charlie’s little endeavor had surprisingly taken off. Several guests were now lodging with them. 

None of the ~~guests~~ yahoos were prominent but all of them were impressed by how the Radio Demon had cleaved both of Val’s arms off when he’d latched onto Angel and boasted that the latter was his property, claiming that – “I don’t hand off my goods to shysters and petty thieve- **SARRGGGGHHHH!$@^#%!!!”**

Mr. Dust came in his pants just seeing those glowing red eyes narrow even if a shiver traveled down his spine at the same time. 

Alastor’s maiming of Val went viral. It was all over 666 News. And a couple of the creeps entering Charlie’s program held the mistaken belief that the Radio Demon had saved Angel out of some sort of compassion. They thought if he could turn over a nicer leaf – **hell** – why couldn’t they? 

Puh! 

Even Angel wasn’t that dense. 

_“Think nothing of it my less than good fellow. Now you are free to devote more time to the hotel!”_

Angel had been offered to star in pornos at Winky Twink Productions. A more benign (at least in comparison to Valentine’s literal dog and pony show) company. 

He was still mulling it over. 

Ange might be the first sinner to enter the redemption program but he was already behind the newbies since he didn’t take much of the thing seriously. He and Smiles had that in common. 

Mostly he helped out with orchestrating event nights for guests and staff. Parties, dances - the odd outside sporting competition. All of it much too squeaky clean for his tastes. Sometimes he found himself enjoying the shindigs he set up but he always got nagged at for taking it too far. 

Vaggie was on his ass constantly about how he couldn’t “grind against the guests, let alone twerk for them.” How he mustn’t spike the ball in Fireball over the net and into his opponent’s face while yelling – “EAT IT BITCH!!” at the top of his lungs. 

If she hadn’t wanted him to dominate (which he could do – he wasn’t always a bottom) then she shoulda never taught him how to play Hell’s version of volleyball. Frickin’ patch-eyed, hook-nosed witch….. 

“Uh-oh. You’re letting your Popsie melt and splat all over the stoop! Nope, nope! That just won’t do! What if someone checking in gets sticky gunk all over their hooves or their tentacles or their skittering spider feet?! Not that yours skitter. They’re always tucked into those stylish high boots you wear.” 

“How’s it hangin’ Niffty?” 

The spritely she-imp whisked around him like a hummingbird on acid, armed with a spray-bottle full of chemicals and a dirty rag. Her neon pink curls bounced against her shoulders as she hummed while she scrubbed raw the steps Angel had defiled. 

She defied reason. She was the most adorable creature to exist this side of damnation. Even cuter than Snek Boi’s daughter. 

……Although Angel was never going to admit that out loud. Who knew what could get back to Lucy, who, at the moment was above ground. 

“Teeheehee. I’m not sure what you mean. Is that carrion droppings on the one-horned gargoyle? Those feathery $%#^&@*!!!” 

An eyebrow raised itself into Angel’s white fringe. Niffty didn’t usually curse. 

Her cheeks, always rosy, became even more preternaturally rouge due to her blush. 

“Whoopsie-doodles. That was naughty to say. Please don’t tell Alastor I said that. Oh pretty please!” 

Angel tongued at the Popsie stick, finishing it off. 

_“Tch,”_ he scoffed. “If ya didn’t spend your afternoons battin’ your eye at Husk then maybe you wouldn’t pick up a fuck ton of No-No Words.” 

Niffty gasped. Then produced a bar of soap out of thin air and lunged at him. He had to keep her from washing his mouth out and nearly sunk his teeth into her when she got too close. 

He wasn’t in the mood. 

A rare moment in the Pit’s history. 

“Watch the merchandise Doll,” he grumbled. 

Niffty refrained and sat down next to him. He was adjusting his bust when he felt a petite set of talons rest on his forehead. 

“Are you feeling alright? You usually don’t leave any drops when you have Popsies.” 

Angel’s money was on Niffty being the one to adhere to Charlie’s Road to Redemption Rules and successfully make it out of the netherworld. Most likely by accident. She was just that sincere. 

Albeit spastic and occasionally insulting. 

Speaking of which - 

“Is it that time of the month?” Niffty leaned in and whispered in his ear. 

The deviant rolled his eyes. Even the other six he kept in hiding along with his extra limbs rolled themselves about in his skull. 

“We been through this….” 

He’d come out here to brood and decide on what to do about the bulge in his pants that hadn’t quite receded. (Of which of course the impette would blatantly ignore because she still thought he was female!) 

**Uuggh….**

Angel craved fun. Sexy fun. And no amount of sanitary Fireball tourneys and BoogieMan Nights were going to solve that. 

The Radio Demon also craved fun. He’d broadcast it the moment he waltzed into their afterlives. But was he rooting for Angel to become a bettered lost soul? Or was he yanking his chain? 

Alastor got ticked when Ange inadvertently made Charlie upset with his stubbornness. And he was always pushing him, either verbally or physically, towards the program’s rehabilitation exercises. 

Typically, with a prod of that vintage mic stand or a dad joke laced with honest to Satan encouragement. 

It lit a desire in Angel’s belly that he wasn’t used to. It made him feel confident. 

Oh. 

Not the normal cocksure (and cock loving) attitude that he was BORN with. No. 

It reminded him of long gone mortal days when he was very young when one of his parents…possibly his mother?.... used to bolster him to try new things he was nervous over. 

Alastor cheered him on. Genuinely. 

And he wasn’t as wretchedly gooey about it as Charlie. 

Angel hated and loved the warm sensation the support gave him. A sensation that also wasn’t tainted so it stood out like a sore thumb in the lust befogged bog that was his soul. 

Every now and then he found himself trying to be a bit less antagonistic to Vaggie. A tad more discreet when news cameras were nearby so he didn’t embarrass Charlie. 

He told himself it had nothing to do with that warmth he was experiencing. 

That it was just a means of getting less bitched at by the royal and her gf. 

“Nifft…..whatdaya think Smiles’ game is?” Angel inquired. 

She was Alastor’s…..servant… so maybe she could clear it up for him. 

“Master Al is um, he’s er, he likes games. LOVES ‘em!! I’m not good at games. I’m good at cleaning. I made a deal with him so other demons would stop playing games with me when I got here. You know Fireball?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I was the on-fire ball for the squid succubi on East Star Point Beach. Always crunched up and burning. It really huuuurrrt.” 

Niffty hugged her knees to her chest and rocked back and forth on the step next to him. She whimpered as she remembered being a ball while ironically (and perhaps subconsciously) squishing herself back down into the shape she had been forced into. When she was nothing but a sack of blisters and soot. 

Angel rubbed the back of his neck, unsure how to respond. 

“Musta reeked.” 

“It did. I smelled like barbeque for decades…..plus I used to be hella smoky. Oops! I picked up ‘hella’ from Vaggie. I guess it’s not so bad saying that since Hell is where we are. It’s a place. Like Pentagram City is a place that has different places in it. I hope I get to spiff up every star point by the way. That’s my dream!” 

“You n’ Charlie….” Angel mumbled. 

Dreams and games. Angel preferred to ‘live’ as it were, in the moment. Detailed machinations for the distant future weren’t really his shtick. 

Didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate a little Hard To Get once and a while. 

Which brought him back to why he was out here. 

He’d been at Husk’s Front Desk/Bar and getting hounded via Vaggie for being behind in the Redemption Course. So, he began bragging about how he hadn’t had a dirty thought all morning. Which was true. 

Angel Dust prided himself on being a fast learner. He’d ‘risen’ quickly in the dick sucking ranks among his peers both above and below. In more ways than one. He could be a Goodie Goodie if he actually wanted. 

Hadn’t Alastor told him a week prior that he had “moxie” and “the chutzpah of ten mafia bosses combined” when he bothered to think with the brain between his ears not the one between his legs? 

Angie had practiced some self-control. And it had paid off! 

Obviously, he deserved to be arrogant because of this. 

_“Is that so? What a feat! I’m actually compelled to shake one of your hands.”_

_“Sure? Y’might get my prostatot cooties all over your boring-as-balls Ace gloves.”_

_“HAH! You are a_ riot.” 

Riot sound effects were eerily emitted throughout the lobby. The screams of people crackled across the transparent clouds of static the Radio Demon bore with him wherever he went. 

And Alastor had strut up to the Front Desk/Bar, arms crossed behind his back. Angel watched him approach from atop a backless barstool, his own arms slung over the bar-top and his body facing the hotel’s front doors. 

The Strawberry Pimp’s slight predatory hunch and eternally predatory smile made Angel instinctively open his legs wider than they already were spread. A knee sheathed in pinstripe wedged itself against the stool, dangerously near Angel’s crotch. 

Dark and deep chuckles reverberated from Alastor even though his smile stayed fixed. 

He tilted forward into the porn star’s space. 

**F u c k he smells fantastic.**

Like carnage and wild cedar….like the woods Angel almost didn’t remember, city boy that he was dead or alive. 

Dust’s eyelids drooped to lounge singer levels. 

Wicked thoughts traipsed across his mind’s landscape as if they’d only been on the shortest of vacations. 

“Congratulations, Angel,” Alastor crooned. 

They were so, soooo close but they weren’t touching. Angel needed to fix that. He was panting and started to reach for the fruit he was definitely forbidden from. 

_“Oooh_ … Is the mic hot?” Dust asked as coquettishly as possible. 

Shadowy claws intercepted his roaming digits. They didn’t break anything but they did bruise him something terrible. The whole time the Radio Demon’s expression remained frozen. Only the dial in his irises flickered left and right. 

At last Alastor snorted. 

“Tut-tut, Mr. Dust. I thought you were made of stronger stuff than your name implies.” 

He sighed and turned. His shadow tossed him the mic stand which he deftly snatched without looking. Angel deflated and tried not to let the humiliation saturate him. But it did. 

“I can beat your red cheeks any day, Buttercup. Fuggin' bet on it!!”

Angel whipped around to face Husker and demanded that the concierge/barkeep bring him _all_ the whiskey, stat. 

Wavery sound waves of laughter echoed around the lobby and up the grand staircase Alastor took. A single nail of his drug against the polished railing. The mocking screech it made, made Angel flinch. 

Thankfully if Husk noticed he didn’t mention it. Probably too perpetually hungover to give a damn. 

And now here he was. Watchin’ Niffty trying to stay positive in the wake of her bad memories and failing. The mini maid crumpled a second instance. Angel spared some knuckles to rub circles into her bowed back. Eventually she stopped weeping and quit imitating a roly-poly.

“I want to make Master Al happy,” she confessed. 

That makes two of us, Angel thought, bitter. But he knew that her want was lot more platonic than his want. By miles. Leagues. _Inches._

“If he’s happy maybe then I can finally pay him back and he’ll be proud of me. Oh gosh – look at the fountain in the front entrance! There’s dead rat-bats in it! We can’t allow that!!” 

As Niffty returned to blitzing hither and yon around the hotel’s property, adjusting this and buffing up that, Angel stood. He stretched and came to the conclusion that there was nothing for it. 

He was gonna haveta go in search of some action to address his problem down south. 

He’d catch flak from Vags and Charlie. But screw ‘em. (Figuratively). 

Some horizontal tangoing would clear his head. Then he could devise a plan for how to deal with Alastor. Hopefully the plan would involve whips and chains. He licked his lips at the notion. 

If Smiles wanted to treat him like a joke then Angel was going to do his level best to make Alastor into the joke instead. 

As long as he didn’t get distracted by the Radio Demon’s long legs, or his lilting voice, or _his hypnotic eyes and drop dead sexy –_

* * *

Vaggie wanted Alastor erased. Gone. Eradicated. 

It would be a lot safer for Charlie if he didn’t exist. 

Husk was basically in agreement with her. However, the gambler mainly wanted the Radio Demon to bite the second big one so he personally would no longer be indebted to him. 

Vaggie had picked as much up during one of the cat demon’s drunken rants to the stuffed moose head that hung above the desk he manned. 

She sank further into the sofa uttering a string of worried and R rated Spanish. 

Angel had wandered from the premises hours ago and Alastor was now engaged with Husk in a card game at the card table. The guests they had – five in total – were either in their rooms or else out running errands. 

Vaggie had a strong suspicion that the porcupine demon who was with them now was moonlighting as an assassin and using ‘errands’ as an excuse to still go after his kills. Why else did he keep coming in at odd hours, richer and missing many of his katana-like quills?? 

She glared at Alastor. 

Somehow the Radio Demon registered her stare even though the gloom in the lobby was heavy. His vermillion eyes locked with hers. He winked the one under the monocle, then drew another card from the deck. 

Vaggie snarled. 

She didn’t care if he’d saved Charlie (and the rest of them) multiple times since being brought on board to their venture. 

There was no way he cared about Charlie as fervently as she did. 

Just as the thought was crossing her mind the blonde appeared from behind the door leading to the basement and waved sheepishly at her. 

“Hey Vags, can you come and help me with the boiler again? It’d been re-possessed by the goblin demons we chased out of the attic. I think they’re getting high off the vapors it's leaking.” 

“I’ll bring the broom from the storage closet.” 

“Ehhh, better make it the chainsaw,” said Charlie. 

“On it, babe,” said Vaggie with a small grin. 

She passed by the Radio Demon and the poker addict, aware that a toothy mask of a face pivoted to watch her go. 

It raised her hackles and set her own teeth on edge. She felt the shadows pooling near her moving feet swarm around her like living entities. Loyal creatures lapping at her ankles, no doubt emanating from _him._

She ground out something vicious. But slang she’d picked up in Hell from ancient demons didn’t daunt the shadows and so neither did words like pendejo or hijo de puta.

She slammed the door to the basement once she procured the chainsaw. 

As she followed Charlie down the stairs, she swore that the shadows tagging along with her were poorly stifling giggles. 

_Cabrón._

At the card table, Husk saw Alastor’s head cant to the side as if to better listen to the door slam. He tried to suppress how Al’s lips ripping back even further to reveal black gums made his stomach churn and focused on the fact that the Radio Demon was now distracted. 

He slipped an extra ace into play with some clever sleight of hand. 

Alastor hummed. 

“Are you sure you want to continue this game, Husker? Guests could come in any moment and you’re growing more serious by the minute.” 

Alastor took out an onyx pocket watch, Victorian in style, and flipped open its polished case front. The object tick-tocked as if to add to his airy comment. 

“Wut? You thinkin’ bout throwin’ in the towel? Huh, didn’t figure your hiatus from being Top Shit down here would turn ya into such a pussy.” 

Alastor’s eyes widened. His pupils narrowed, becoming dots, and his smile lost some of its prominent U shape. It morphed into a hard line. 

“Now, now. I’m sure being vulgar won’t help you focus. And the wager is high as it is. You’re playing for an entire millennium of service to be reduced from your contract.” 

The Radio Demon plucked another card from the deck. 

_“Or added to it should you lose.”_

Husk, for the first time in the game, experienced an internal tsunami of foreboding. The way Alastor calmly sat across from him as though uninvested belied his control of the situation. 

He was going to win. 

Somehow, Husk knew it. 

Alastor was playing with him. Just like he had last time – when Husk shook paws with him. 

_It wasn’t fair!_ his brain raged. 

How come Alastor **always** had to win?!! What made him so goddamn special?!!! 

Since Husk was already cheating he came to the swift conclusion that he needed to cheat more. That was the only prayer he had of trouncing Big Bad Antlers. 

“Let’s make this more interestin’ if yer gettin’ bored ‘nough to nag me.” 

Husk slid a bottle of booze across the table to Alastor before fetching another for himself. He toasted the Radio Demon. 

“Match me shot for shot while we play. See if y’can keep up.” 

Alastor snapped his fingers, changing the liqueur into some fancy schmancy wine concoction. 

“Will that getcha drunk?” Husk asked. “Bet’s off if there’s water in there or some shit.” 

“It’s an acquired taste but yes, it makes me heady, you could say,” said Alastor. 

“Good,” the lush replied. 

He missed the mischievous tone in Alastor’s voice and they resumed their game. 

The fact of the matter was, Husk knew he and Alastor were a lot alike.

They both made a pastime out of fleecing people. They’d been doing it since the cradle and hadn’t seen fit to stop once they were denied deliverance. _Al_ also had a dry sense of humor that went over most cretin’s heads or whatever constituted as their heads. 

Husk’s humor was gin dry. Sour and acrid. Harsh and blunt on the palate. But Alasator…

His humor mirrored absinthe. Sneaky. It was smoother than people gave it credit for and could easily sneak up on you, leaving you haggling with God through a toilet if you weren’t careful. 

At some point, Husk gained his confidence back. 

AM/FM was slurring his pretty words, making more dad jokes, and slapping his knee – laughing at them himself when Husk didn’t do anything besides belch, thoroughly unimpressed. 

If the gambler could get him spilling the bottle he’d mostly drained, then it’d be a done deal. He’d have him right where he wanted him. 

Seemingly reading his mind, Alastor placed a rolled-up section of parchment on the table. A wax seal with a demon cat face etched into it kept the document closed. 

His contract. 

Eager, Husker reached for it. 

“Ah, ah,” Alastor said, wagging a finger. _“If_ you best me you can cross out your name. You’ll be free as a bird! Or free to chase them.” 

He tweaked one of Husker’s cat ears and laughed when Husk’s fangs gnashed at the action. 

Oh yeah. Radio Demon was drunk. He usually wasn’t into touching. Even if it was just to tease. 

Charlie was the exception. 

After consideration, Husk laid down his next card. 

He wasn’t drunk. Heck, he’d barely hit his stride. And he practically had this in the bag! Alastor discarded the suit that matched his ace. Husk had to conceal his glee. Yet he couldn’t help abandoning his poker face and actually smiling when he played his final card. 

Victory. 

Heh, there was somethin’ that might succeed in inebriating him. 

“I win.” 

“Do you?” 

“COURSE I DO!! SEE!!” 

Husker pointed to the pile of discards only to behold his cheat ace transforming into a Joker. 

“Don’t look at me like that, my feline friend. If you skip town on the rules, why shouldn’t I?” 

Husker was livid. 

“Y-YOU!!” 

“Yes?” 

The smug fuckface!! 

Consumed with fury, Husk swiped his contract off the table. His attempts to shred it apart with his claws proved futile. The contract unrolled itself but it was apparently impervious to damage. He ran over to the Front Desk – trying to find the fish skeleton that guests dipped in an inkwell in order to sign in. 

His gaze scanned the bottom of the document, searching for his name to blot out. 

It wasn’t there. 

Alastor’s laughter was full-blown. 

“Where n’ Christ is my name?!!” 

The wine bottle was gestured with while Alastor explained. 

“I don’t keep something so precious as that out in the open, Husk.” 

“I WROTE MY NAME ON THIS PAGE! WHERE. IS. IT?!!” 

“Adjust your volume, please. And to answer your question, it’s in here.” 

Alastor tipped back his bottle and finished drinking. His drunken sway caused a couple of drops to splatter onto the table. The Radio Demon huffed and flicked his wrist. The drops, blood bright, levitated off the felt and into his mouth. Which the concierge was just now realizing looked stained. 

“Well, now it’s in here,” Alastor said, patting his gullet. “Still safe n’ sound.” 

I didn’t sign in that much blood…..

“This Sign Here bullshit is a hoax!! A scam!!” Husker fumed. 

Alastor held up Husk’s Joker card. “You would know,” he mused. 

“If my contract ain’t signed it’s null and void. We’re over!” 

“Signing our little written agreement wasn’t just for show. And your soul is still very much mine.” 

Husk chucked a decanter at him. Alastor dodged it and stood. 

“You ‘spect me to buy that’cher really guzzlin’ people’s signatures, Alastor?”

“Wouldn’t want them go to waste. Perish the thought. They’re eternal until I say otherwise. And they taste oh so divine.” 

Humming, Alastor strolled out of the lobby, mentioning that he’d have to refill the wine bottle over the weekend. 

How many contracts would that equate to? 

Hundreds? Thousands? 

Husk was too simultaneously angry and terrified to guesstimate. 

The Radio Demon cheerily thanked him for the “rousing game of cards” and the gambler made a pact with himself to never undersell Alastor again. 

Regardless of how plied he was with liquid courage in the future.

* * *

Later, once the boiler had been sorted, Charlie paced alone in her and Vaggie’s room.

How could she be contemplating a transgression this vile? Charlie viewed herself as an upfront (dare she even think it – righteous) demon. Okay, so she hadn’t been ‘spawned’ in Hell the way the average sinner had but, seriously, _cheating?_

That wasn’t her. She didn’t swan around having a lot of affairs like Angel and Stolas. 

And she loved Vaggie. With all her heart. 

It’s just that her heart had been wandering lately. 

Was it possible to love two people at the same time, romantically? 

Even if matters never became…physical, Charlie longed for there to be something between her and the Radio Demon. 

She journeyed out onto her balcony and saw the subject of her affection approaching a demon in a mailman getup. The guy was waffling outside the steps of the hotel. He appeared bedraggled, as if he’d had an encounter with her father’s hellhounds, and his body language conveyed: timid. 

Alastor hailed him with a hearty, “Hullo there!” and within seconds the mailman was won over. Scarlet Fever, as Husk sometimes called him, could be downright infectious when he had a mind to. 

Charlie watched him shepherd the lost soul through their doors. 

She sighed. 

She couldn’t stop feeling how she did, try as she might. Alastor was mesmerizing. And kind. At least to her. 

He sometimes fixed her meals in the galley kitchen. He referred to everything he prepared or ate himself that was meat as venison. Whether it be crab, lamb, fish, cow, pig – you name it! 

Everything meat was venison according to Al. 

Charlie joked with him that if he followed a Dining With Dahmer tutorial he’d still call it venison. He’d laughed and fed her the tastiest goose she’d ever had! 

He liked to dance with her on their off hours. No one else had as much fun singing and performing dance numbers as she did, save Al. He was the only one in the nine rings who didn’t think it was trite or corny. And when he held her close…

Vaggie didn’t trust him but she didn’t trust many. I mean, they resided in friggen Hell! And the Latina hadn’t made an effort to get-on with their other cohorts either – Angel, Husk, and Niffty – mostly due to her disregard for them. 

So were her girlfriend’s sentiments about Alastor legitimate or did they stem more from her standoffish personality? 

When she and Vaggie went out to patch up demons injured in various turf wars (and to advertise their hotel to those sick of said turf wars) Alastor would trail them. 

Charlie hadn’t told Vaggie about it. She knew that Al just wanted to make sure they were safe and that Vags wouldn’t take it well. 

One time a shark demon had tried lashing out at her from a tornado of all things and she’d sucker punched the salty a-hole into the revolving slitted eye of a nearby lighthouse. Her horns had made a brief appearance and yeeeah, she was kinda sorta guilty of showing off for her….stalker. 

Not that it lasted. Barely a month after Sharknado had been dispatched, Charlie got into a tussle with an angel. 

Not their Angel. 

A for-real warrior fresh from the Lord’s courts. Flaming sword, wings – the whole shabang! 

When he’d grabbed Charlie and began to take off with her, that’s when Alastor had swooped to her rescue. He lifted his mic stand for her to grab onto and once she had hold of it, used it to drag her down to the street. Together; she, Alastor, and Vaggie fought off the interloper from Heaven. 

If the Radio Demon hadn’t been there to intervene, would she have been taken somewhere by the angel to be punished? 

Charlie hugged herself. 

She went back inside her room and glanced at a portrait of her dad. She could really use his advice right now. 

What did Alastor want? 

_I wish I knew…._

* * *

Alastor took a gander at one of the dozens of family portraits decorating the hotel what featured Charlie and her parents. 

His gaze rotated but kept returning to a certain someone with an apple-topped cane. 

It was thanks to Daddy Dearest that, almost a century ago, Alastor had received a ‘Cease and Desist Order’. A mandate he labored under to this day. 

For now. 

“Boss, BOSS! We need some help with the bags!” 

A few of the minions he’d summoned to assist the mailman were struggling with his luggage. 

Alastor tapped the bottom of his mic against the hallway’s plush rug and two more sinners – a gremlin and a stocky, gorilla-looking demon - manifested; clad in the same red and gold bellhop outfits as his other lackeys. 

“Er, thanks for that. Wow, it’s been a long time since I thanked anybody. Maybe there’s hope for me after all,” said the mailman. 

“Indeed! Don’t you sweat it, my fellow former serial killer! We’ll get you tidied up and returned to your maker/sender before you can say hot dog!” 

The mailman, who’d had chunks of flesh torn out of him by the hellhounds – chunks which were oozing onto the rug, shuddered. 

“Er, th-thanks. See y’all for dinner, I guess.” 

And, with the click of the door to room 237, their sixth official guest was checked-in in the Carrousel Wing! 

Alastor whistled a tune no longer sung by mortals, owing to a fire in 1919 that had burned all the recordings of it plus the song’s sheet paper. 

He didn’t crave sex. He had no one he sought praise from. He indulged in murder but he was no longer fixated by it. And freedom? He was free. He didn’t have the limitations of a human body here. He’d been able to create heaps more bloodshed in Hell than he ever had on Earth. 

As for love. 

He’d never been quite able to comprehend it. And he didn’t believe he ever would. Charlie was the first tolerable creature of note he’d happened upon in a dreadfully long while. The kicker that she was Hell’s Princess to boot still made him grin ear-to-ear. 

A simple, glowy soul. 

He enjoyed spending time with her although he couldn’t quite place where she deserved to be in light of eternity. 

Occasionally, she showcased her prowess as a demoness as she had with Sharknado. 

Such fiery beauty! 

And then nuisances like Castiel intruded to try and spoil his plans. The jumped-up angel (no, not the high porn star) had made a bid to collect Charlie. Likely, to “raise her from perdition” as he was prone to do with spirits who’d been misplaced, those worthy of Purgatory. 

Maybe it was true that Charlie didn’t belong here. She’d never had the same chance the rest of them did. 

But Alastor wasn’t about to let Heaven steal his prize. 

He wasn’t going to be deprived of her songs, her silly and amusing optimism, her – was it friendship? Was that what he basked in when he was in her presence? 

He’d have to tread softly around a status like friendship. From what he heard it could devolve into attachments that were counter-productive to his schemes. 

He was bored. And the hotel was a glorious source of entertainment! 

….A place to rehabilitate sinners…..

The concept was despicable. Sordid. 

As dazzled as he’d been when he saw Charlie on 666 News, her mission-statement had filled him with revulsion. 

If she made headway and actually began redeeming wretches…..well, that just couldn't be abided. 

Alastor was here to get his rocks off to demons failing to be anything other than what they were. To sabotage Charlie if any of her charity work proved feasible. 

And of course, he was going to find a loophole in the ‘Cease and Desist Order’ that was still in effect. 

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d outwitted the powers that be. 

A memory came to Alastor of his tenure as a human. 

_“I’ll be damned up, down, n’ sideways – the Shreveport Killer is tryna slick-talk the mayor’s daughter!”_

_Alastor glared at the detective’s jeering. He’d almost had the kitten sympathizing with him. He leaned up against the cell’s bars._

_“Can you fellas jaw elsewhere?” he asked._

_The burlier of the cops, the lout with salt n’ pepper grizzle and cigarette breath, banged the bars with the butt of the rifle they’d confiscated._

_“Boy, forget the judge. After the slew of killins you done had tacked to you, from Baton Rouge to Sarasota – you won’t be seein’ that courthouse. Might not see the mornin’ ‘cept by the grace a’God.”_

_Alastor shifted in his straightjacket. He blew brown bangs out of his eyes and glasses._

_“Am I fixin’ to endure a sermon? I’d dearly love to use that fallen comrade of yours as a pew to catch some Z’s on if that’s the case. What was his name….Buccaneer? Buckaroo? Buck?”_

_Burly slammed a closed fist against the bars making them vibrate against Alastor’s cranium and giving him a headache. The cop was murderous._

_“Oh-ho! What was that for? You can’t be mad at me for puncturing good ole Bucky! I - how would you put it? – ‘weren’t gon’ be taken in without no fight’. No siree! If you wanted him still here, you shoulda stepped up to the plate before he did!”_

_The Shreveport Killer made a sound like a baseball bat cracking and then imitated a cheering crowd. His jailers were not as receptive as his radio audience._

_Burly grabbed him by his jacket’s collar and yanked him forward. A broken nose would’ve definitely been gifted to Alastor had the mayor’s kid not come back to claim the umbrella she'd accidentally left behind._

_“Is there a problem here, gentlemen?” she asked._

_Her Southern drawl was delicious._

_“Not at present, Miss Boucher.”_

_Alastor chuckled and watched her retrieve her umbrella. Watched her hungrily…._

What Alastor hankered after was to persecute as he saw fit to persecute….as he had before he’d been obstructed from doing so. 

To him, there wasn’t a difference between the Devil and the police he’d met when alive. 

Retribution was fulfilling. It gave him purpose. Supposedly all creation had originally been imbued with purpose, however it was hardly championed in the underworld. He and Charlie were the last to chase it here since, according to 1 Peter 5:8, “The devil, as a roaring lion, roams the earth, seeking whom he may devour.” 

“Niffty,” Alastor called. 

The bouncy ball of energy popped out of the ether and landed next to him. 

“Yes, Master Al?!” she asked, over-excited and alternatively bunching and smoothing out her poodle skirt. 

“Make sure the kitchen is prepped for tonight’s banquet. And double-check that there’s cayenne pepper in the pantry. We’ve run clean out and I’m keen on treating everyone to my mother’s famous Étouffée.” 

Niffty saluted him. 

“Will do, Master!” 

Alastor patted the top of her noggin. 

“That’s the ticket!” he extolled. 

Niffty beamed. She whizzed off to the kitchens while the Radio Demon wended that way at his leisure. 

He passed even more artistic renderings of Charlie’s macabre yet picturesque family. Idly, he wondered why the Deceiver hadn’t had a brood with Lilith. The pair struck one as being a passionate couple. 

Ultimately, it was to his advantage that Charlie was an only child. 

Won’t the King be surprised when he comes back down and sees what I’ve done with the place….. 

There's not going to be much he can do about it without breaking Charlie’s heart – by harming his new son-in-law. 

_Alastor’s nose was broken the instant Miss Boucher was out of sight. The long arm of the law hauled him even closer and hit him a second, third, and fourth time – obliterating his glasses and a great deal of his bone structure._

_These cops just refused to take a shine to him!_

_“Good gal like her with_ gams _like hers….you don’t stand a chance in hell, pal.”_

🎶 ** _“Says who?”_** 🎶


	2. Author's Notes

sidenote: Boucher is a French occupational surname that means _butcher_ 😈

So I'm IN OBSESSION with Hazbin Hotel. 

Being someone who's borderline Ace I adore that the main villain gets his kicks watchin' proverbial Sisyphus characters shoot their shot and miss abysmally. With him and just in general. 

Al's the most Chaotic (and Evil) of Neutrals (at least of those I’ve witnessed in this year’s fiction) XD 

Gawd I love it……. ^_^ 

Some idiots don't. They've been raising shmeck on Twits R' Us apparently. Over a damn cartoon that's R rated and very well written. Jeeze Balls. 

#IwouldtakeabulletforSirPentious. 

((If you dunno who Cas is, he's an assbutt kicker from Supernatural and as much as I love him the best durn moment about the show is [here))](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=62Z9uPwkV8g)

My RiviEraSwing playlist got some serious listening to while penning this. 

list of songs that I used as inspo for characters –or at least the mains 

For Alastor: 

Dixie Biscuits by Tape Five  
Let's Misbehave by Swing Republic  
Seriel Killer by Lana Del Rey 

For Vaggie: 

Excuse My French by Caro Emerald

For Charlie: 

Sunnyside by Leftover Cuties

For Angel: 

Sweet by Unlike Pluto  
Antique Gucci by Cryptex  
Kinda Outta Luck by Lana Del Rey 

BIG UPS to Viv for the success of her story and the pack of degenerates it features!!! I've been following her for a stretch but I coulda never guessed she had something like this in the works. ALL THE PROPS GURL - ALL OF 'EM!!!


End file.
